


I'll Keep Mine (You Keep Yours)

by tempered_rose



Series: The Manu, Benny, Mats Saga [3]
Category: Football RPF, Real Person Fiction, Sports RPF
Genre: Angst, Blow Jobs, Break Up, Denial of Feelings, Feelings, Implied Relationships, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Mats is a slut, One Night Stands, Past Relationship(s), Undecided Relationship(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-27
Updated: 2014-10-27
Packaged: 2018-02-22 19:37:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,671
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2519408
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tempered_rose/pseuds/tempered_rose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mats tries to find a distraction so he won't think about what he saw in the club involving Benedikt and a certain goalkeeper. But the problem with distractions is that they can't completely keep your mind off of everything and you have to find one first…</p><p>Also, Mats is kind of a slut and an asshole. Third and final part to the Mats, Benni, Manu saga.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'll Keep Mine (You Keep Yours)

**Author's Note:**

> Final part of this series, from Mats' perspective. The song inspiration for this one is [this fine piece of work](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wl6f0kt29jw) that I love most dearly. Written by request for my queen and my court's two amicable minions…all of whom I love and adore and am so glad they keep me company :3
> 
> Enjoy! :)

_I shall revenge myself in the cruelest way you can imagine. I shall forget it._

You don’t remember why you and Marco started fucking around, but you had, you were, you would likely do again. Every hotel room looked the same after a while; every corridor was the same blue carpet and white walls, same layout of a room, same bathroom, same everything. It was all the same and you were bored of it; bored of hotels, of losing, of yourself. Even of _him_ , Marco.

You’ve never smoked anything in your life, but right now you have a strange itching for a cigarette. You’re leaning against the wall and watching the club scene from a distance. Normally you’d be in the thick of it, dancing and having a good time like the others. You’d also likely be half-drunk at this point, three hours into the evening, and be trying to get someone home or back to your room and into your bed.

Now, you’re sober and have an itch for something you’ve never had before. You know it’s a bad idea, not healthy, and against club and team ethics, but you can’t help it. The nicotine would likely take off the edge, or so you think, and that’s exactly what you need. Too bad you can’t have one and don’t know anyone that has any to ask for one. Perhaps you only want it because it would look romantic, edgy; it would look better than it would probably feel, but you can’t help it. Sometimes you’re a slave to appearances—sometimes.

You want to forget right now, but you don’t move. Whether that’s forget inside a bottle, forget with a good fuck, forget with driving through the night at a high rate of speed, you just want to forget what you’re seeing on the dance floor. It’s Benni and he looks happy. He looks like he’s forgotten you; he looks like you never meant anything to him. He looks the way he did when you first starting lusting after him. Happy, at peace, and _desperately in love with Manuel_.

You would never say you helped Benedikt cheat on Manuel back then, but you wouldn’t truthfully be able to deny it either. Besides, Benedikt hadn’t really cheated. Things were ending with Manu anyway, he was going to Bayern, and distance wasn’t really conducive to a good relationship. Besides, if Benedikt had anything to really say about it, there hadn’t been much of a relationship going on with Manu anyway. They had just been friends who’d fucked around sometimes, no more and no less. More friends than anything else. So you’d come in with your tempting smiles and suggestive eyes and it had been easy, so easy, and Benedikt had fallen into your bed. Fallen into your life. Fallen in love with you.

Maybe it should have been an eye-opener when he started to say endearments like ‘desire’, a caution when he suggested ‘love’, and a warning when he spoke of ‘forever’. Maybe you should have ended it the first time he told you he loved you. Maybe you should’ve just walked out and stopped texting him. That surely would’ve been easier?

But you’d been ecstatic and comfortable. You were winning things with Borussia Dortmund and you were having a fucking great time of life. You had an incredibly hot fuck-buddy, you had a successful team, and you were being paid to play professional football. What on God’s green earth did you need more than that?

Apparently, Benedikt had wanted more. A commitment, a promise. He wanted your love. You still weren’t sure why you had such problems giving that to him. Perhaps it was the reminder of your parents’ divorce, perhaps you just didn’t want to give yourself away to someone who could have the power to hurt you. Hell, maybe it was because he was a blue and you were black and yellow.

You shake your head and make your escape through the club’s back door. You don’t care about any photographers that may be lurking around; you don’t pay them attention anyway. You shove your hands in your pockets and you walk down the street back towards the hotel. Cruelly, you walk past a bunch of teenagers in an alley that are smoking a pack of cigarettes. You’re tempted to stop and ask but you don’t. You behave like the good little footballer that you are and keep moving, instead soaking up the smell of the city and the fresh air as you dutifully walk back towards the building that you’ll be spending the night in.

You’re still happy, only now you’re bored and you don’t like it. You’re okay being on your own; you’ve told yourself this a million times, but you don’t like doing it, just the same. Loneliness isn’t something you’ve experienced much of because you’ve always had someone around. Your brother, your friends, your team, Benni. Only now he’s gone, Jonas isn’t around, and you don’t want to bother your friends—not that you have an excessive amount of them on die Mannschaft anyway.

You suppose you could probably drop in on Erik and spend a while with him, seduce him easily enough because you know he has a crush on you. You already have a plan half-formed as the thought crosses your mind on how you’d do it too. Smile at him, lean against a doorjamb with your thumb in your jeans’ pocket, flash a smile at the young man and he’d fall to his knees with his hand fumbling with your belt and his mouth opening for your cock. You could practically see it and feel his breath on your groin, but you don’t go to his room when you enter the hotel. With your finger jabbing the elevator’s call button, you realize that you’ve spent a large portion of your adult life seducing people; that should probably concern you, but you don’t linger on it.

You’re not unhappy about Benni. You’re glad he found someone to make him happy the way he probably wanted you to do. You don’t really care that it’s Manuel. In fact, you’re actually kind of relieved to know it’s Manuel. Manuel’s a safe choice cause it makes sense; you aren’t sure if you could be so rational and accepting of it all if Benedikt had picked the kid Julian or Kroos, or Miro or somebody. You don’t really pause to think of the absurdity of the thoughts you just had.

Your room is just as you left it—messy—when you get back into it, but you don’t bother over housekeeping. You just slump down into a chair and put your feet up as your lips stay down in the frown you’ve felt on your face for a while, likely your whole walk back. Maybe even in the club if you’d bothered to check for it.

Your thoughts turn back to Marco and you are tempted to call him but you don’t. You know exactly where he is and there is a zero percent chance he’d come if you asked him to; not that you’re going to. He’s with Götze and you don’t really want to bother him. He’d drop you like a hot potato if it ever came down to a choice between you or Mario. He’d never pick you under any circumstances over the other player and you don’t really know why you are even thinking about this right now. Of course you don’t want Marco to chose you over Mario; you don’t want to be tied down, committed, to anyone, least of all Marco.

There had been a person, once not too long ago, that would’ve chosen you if you had asked him. He would have done anything for you, said anything that you needed to hear, helped with anything you needed. Benni. Benedikt. He had been probably the best thing to happen to you in a while but you weren’t going to dwell on it. It was over now, that much was very obvious, and you didn’t want him back. He was happy and content with someone who could give him whatever he wanted, their heart, and you didn’t have to be that person. It was a win-win for everyone involved, right?

Then why did you feel so shitty about it?

Was it because you were alone? Because you hadn’t had enough to drink (anything)? Was it because you didn’t stay to find out if Manuel was as much in love with Benni as the Schalker was? Maybe it was just because you were tired and needed a good football match to get it all out of your system.

You rub your hands over your face; your insomnia is likely going to kick in tonight and you are trying to think of something to occupy your thoughts all night until you finally get sleepy enough to get an hour or two. Play FIFA most likely.

You’re happy for them, honestly, at least you think you are. It’s the absence of _some_ one that is making you miss him more than reality, you know its true. It has to be. There can’t be anything else for it. You sigh and your phone buzzes in your pocket. You don’t really want to answer it or acknowledge anyone else’s existence, but you’re bored and you welcome the distraction. Besides, you don’t always have to answer if you don’t want to. You pull the device from your pocket and glance at it.

‘Want company’? You raise your eyebrow at the person who sent the message. You’re really tempted to decline. After all, isn’t he one of Benni’s favorites? It doesn’t matter; you’re excited and you’re already sending back an affirmative to the sender of the message. You’re excited because it’s wrong, it’s forbidden. Benni would be _pissed_ if he finds out. You palm yourself through your jeans because you’re already half-hard. The kid better be willing to suck you off because you don’t really want to expend the energy to fuck him. If he’s lucky you’ll give him a hand-job to repay him if he’s any good at it. It’s not like you would know, you’ve never been with him before.

He’s at your door faster than you thought he would be. Perhaps he was waiting for you to reply before he came down in the elevator? At least he was polite. You just really hope he doesn’t want to talk about something.

You call out that it’s open and you watch as the brunette pushes the door open and walks in. He flashes a small smile, he looks nervous, and shuts it behind him. You stay seated with your legs splayed and watch as he comes in further. You leave your hand on your thigh and watch as he shifts awkwardly in front of you. You’re tempted to just order him around, see if he could take an order from you as well as he could take one from his Schalke captain. You’re tempted and he must notice that. From the way he glances into your lap and the way he then licks his lips before he slowly looks back to your face.

“What would you like me to do?” He asks and you almost purr with delight. Finally, someone who knows what you want but you don’t have to ask for. At last, someone with some sense and willingness to please.

“What do you think?” You ask silkily and he kneels in front of you. You didn’t think he’d be that easy. You’re almost disappointed. Almost.

The kid puts his hands on your thighs, one rests near your own but you don’t move to cover it with yours. You’re not looking for a relationship, a one-night stand, just a distraction. He probably sees that in your eyes because he doesn’t calm you with platitudes or inane pleasantries. How are you doing? would seem very out of place coming from someone on their knees about to give you a blow job.

You do him the courtesy of unbuckling your belt and he finishes undoing your trousers with his fingers with the zipper being lowered slowly. You watch his dark head lower over you once he’s taken you out of your boxers and you let your head fall back onto the leather seat behind you.

Fuck you’re good. He’s good, but you’re mostly focusing on how good you are. Didn’t even seek the kid out and he’s already giving you head like a pro. A grin slips across your face. Maybe you’ll keep him for a while after all. Maybe you’ll even fuck him. It doesn’t matter. He’s bobbing his head on your cock and you breathe out a name and from the way he doesn’t stop it must have been the right name.

Julian. Maybe it was Draxler. Doesn’t matter. That’s who it is, the kid, Julian, is fucking good at giving head. Did he practice on Benedikt? You don’t really mind (and you don’t think so either). Benedikt doesn’t sleep with his favorites, his pets. He’s told you that before. And Julian is his favorite. At least he was; right now he’s yours.

Your hips buck up into his mouth and you groan his name again as you come into his mouth. He—very politely, you might add—swallows everything you give him and you breathe heavily as you open your eyes again and look into his face. His cheeks are red and his lips are swollen. He looks flushed and it’s delightful. A smile slides over your face and you think you must look crazy.

“Fuck, kid, you’re staying the night.” You breathe and he doesn’t seem to want to protest. Good. You offer your hand and pull him into your lap, careful of your semi-soft cock. It’ll be a few minutes before you can go again, but he doesn’t seem to mind. You kiss him then, mainly to shut your thoughts up, and he kisses you back. He’s slightly awkward about it, but you don’t pay any attention to that.

You’re going to spend the rest of the night seducing Julian Draxler, someone you didn’t think you would be doing tonight, or really any other night, but fuck it. Opportunities arise sometimes and you just have to grab things by the horns and go with it. Maybe by the time you get done with it you’ll have made Julian fall as much in love with you as you are with yourself.

So how should you do it?

He doesn’t seem to have Erik’s sense of faithful worship (where you are his hero doting your attention and affection on him). He doesn’t have Benni’s need for affection and love (you try to push him out of your mind as quickly as possible). He doesn’t have Marco’s temperamental sass (and affection for another man that will forever eclipse his affections for you). He doesn’t have Lukasz’ faithful and trusting heart (you still feel kind of bad about seducing him, but God it’d been worth it). He doesn’t have Lars’ innocence (you can remember his lips around your cock as you traced his gorgeous cheekbones). He doesn’t have Roman’s strength or skilled hands (who knew goalkeepers were _that_ bendable while still being tied up?). He doesn’t have Thomas’ silliness (God you haven’t forgotten that one night stand, you don’t think you ever will).

How should you seduce Julian? He’s not as easy as the others. You grin and hold him closer to your body. You just guess you’ll have to find out. What a great way to spend an evening… It’s much better of a choice than dwelling over the way Benni was smiling to Manu. It’s much better of a choice than being alone. If you’re lucky, you won’t have to be an insomniac tonight because the kid will have worn you out by then. If you’re lucky…

If you’re lucky you won’t feel the need to catch up to Benedikt’s level of blatant, carefree happiness.


End file.
